


Extra Credit in Physics

by Professional_Creeper



Series: The Physics Teacher [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Creepy Fluff, F/M, Manipulative Relationship, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Sexual Coercion, Smut, Smutlet, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3953365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professional_Creeper/pseuds/Professional_Creeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She used to fantasize about her nerdy physics teacher. When he started showing an intimidating level of interest in her, her crush turned to dread. What if he tries to go after her? Or worse still-- what if he doesn't?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extra Credit in Physics

**Author's Note:**

> Underage warning to be safe. I'm being very clear that she's a senior, and therefore at least 17 years old, which is the age of consent in most states.  
> (If you want help picturing Dr. Foster, look up Brad Dourif in Nightwatch, Alien Resurrection, or Senseless.)
> 
> This is essentially a story about a teacher trying to be a manipulative creep and failing. And then sex.

 

In a way, I was looking for trouble when it found me.

My footsteps clapped on the floor, echoing against the walls. After school clubs had long been let out, so I had no real reason to still be here. I just didn't want to go home to another screaming match with my mother, while she slowly drank herself to sleep. Could you blame me? So I liked to stick around, until one by one, each buzzing fluorescent light went out.

The doors only locked from the outside, so I could stay as late as I wanted without getting stuck as long as I wasn't caught. I knew by now which corridors to take to avoid being seen by janitors or late-working teachers. Except today, someone was following me.

I felt his eyes on me before I saw him. I know, it's not possible to _feel_ someone's eyes burning into your back, but I swear, somehow I did. Perhaps I heard the echoing of his soft footsteps against the poured marble floor, so quiet only my subconscious recognized it. Or perhaps his piercing blue eyes truly held some magic that could be felt.

I didn't look behind me, but I knew he was there and I knew who he was. There was only one man who could be in the school this late, tailing me with footsteps as silent as a cat hunting a mouse.

I lengthened my stride, trying to put some distance between us. A voice in my head repeated hopefully, “he can't _really_ be following me”. It was my imagination. It was all a dark, morbid fantasy, and the fluttering of my heart behind my sternum like moths trapped inside a light fixture was only the result of watching too many crime dramas.

As soon as I got some distance between us, I would see that he wasn't trying to keep pace with me. It was only coincidence that he was taking the same path as me. This couldn't really be happening.

But it _was_ really happening.

No matter which empty corridor I picked, I could feel him, at a distance, always just behind the last corner, always casually there, as if he wasn't following me at all and just happened to end up where he was. Except there was no reason for a science teacher to be stalking a circuitous route around the school after nearly everyone else had gone home. No reason, except for the one I had both feared and desired for months.

Dr. Foster always stared at me in class. It made me feel stupid. “He must think I'm not paying attention,” I thought when it first started. Sometimes I doodled, it was true, but it didn't mean I wasn't listening. I did not want to feel stupid in front of him. I wanted him to know how brilliant I thought he was.

For one thing, he was way too smart to be teaching. Most high school teachers, even for advanced placement senior classes, don't have doctorates. I thought it was just good luck that I had a teacher so qualified, but now I have to wonder if the reason he doesn't have a better job has something to do with his personality.

The rest of the class liked to laugh and joke about him in the hall, after the bell rang for next period. He was too serious about the subject and often tangented off into stuff that was too advanced for the high school level. I was excited to hear about the interesting high-level stuff.

A boy named Tyler, was held back from graduating thanks to a failing grade from Dr. Foster last year. I was spitefully happy to hear about that, until I realized it meant he'd be in my class senior year. Tyler is the kind of stupid that blames the teacher, and not the fact that he never did any homework, for failing. He would mock the way Dr. Foster got excited about experiments, and loved to point out that he was taller than him and could “kick his ass” or something. So fucking crass.

I felt so bad for Dr. Foster having to put up with that, especially when I thought it was sweet the way he got so wrapped up in the science. I wanted him to see that I was different.

He was detail-oriented, and this showed up in every aspect of him, from his lectures to his appearance. Under a crisp white lab coat, he wore a freshly pressed shirt and tie. His hair, like dark steel with hints of silver, was always neatly slicked back. I had never found a teacher handsome before, but he was. He looked like the brilliant but misunderstood genius running some futuristic fusion reactor in a sci-fi movie.

That last bit should tell you something about how _realistic_ I thought an actual relationship with him would be.He was too old for me, and a teacher besides. I was content with fantasizing. Still, I couldn't help noticing little things,like how his eyes were a maelstrom on the ocean, the way my heart skipped a beat when his fingers brushed mine handing back a test, or how on those fingers that brushed against mine, there was no sign of a ring.

These things I pondered on.

Then I noticed he was observing me, too. His eyes would linger on me longer than was comfortable, and I could see his glance trail down my chest. It made my skin crawl. Suddenly my innocent little fantasy was too real. A crush on a teacher was one thing, but his prurient, demanding stares implied something I was not ready for.

Maybe he was angry that I never returned his salacious gazes, because he began to call on me in class often, and seemingly only for questions he _knew_ I couldn't answer. I could swear he took pleasure in humiliating me.

I knew he wanted me, badly, and he was just messed up enough that he might act on it. I shouldn't have stayed at school after dark. But teachers always seemed magically tethered to their classrooms. I had never considered that he might actually come after me. Now, here I was, alone in an empty hallway, and behind me two cold blue eyes bore into my back. Dr. Foster had no reason to be there except to corner me and finally take what he wanted.

Heart racing, I paused.

Maybe that was what I had wanted all along. I imagined his hands caressing my skin, his lips on my lips…

I pivoted on my heel and caught his blue eyes in mine as they peeked around the corner. Screw it. This _was_ happening.

“Dr. Foster” I began, striding up to face him, “what are you doing around the school so late?”

For a second, he was caught completely off balance, as if he never expected I would whip around and acknowledge him. The mouse turning on the cat. Cats, however, always land on their feet.

“I'm a teacher, miss White, and I have every right to be here.” he bristled. “You, on the other hand, do not. What are _you_ doing here so late? I can only assume delinquent behavior. I was hoping to catch you in the act, but I'm afraid sending you home now will have to do.”

My breath caught in my throat. _Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ My god, I thought he was predating on me, but really he just thinks I'm some stupid asshole like those kids who don't take his class seriously. How can he really think that about me?

I was about to cry and run home and never look him in the eye ever again, but then I noticed. The corners of his lips were turned up just slightly in a sadistic grin. It was more than just the smug triumph of a teacher condescending to a “bad” student. I knew plenty of those. He saw how his words stung me, and he liked it. His eyes were tracing invisible, unwanted fingers up and down my flesh, pausing unsubtly on my breasts.

Every muscle in my body tensed as understanding dawned on me. I didn't want them to, but I couldn't stop my hands from shaking.

Why should they shake like that? I wasn't scared. I swear, I wasn't scared.

“Are you sure you want me to go home?” I scarcely more than muttered.

“Excuse me?” he retorted, trying to sound confused, yet his sudden intake of breath betrayed him.

I continued, voice shaking despite my utmost confidence in my words, “I thought you were following me so you could trap me in some dark corner where nobody would see us...”

There was no disguising the terror in his eyes, the mortified fury of a wolf who's sheepskin had been ripped away. He stammered some excuses, tried to say he didn't know what I could mean, yet he couldn't deny the accusation with the true indignation of an innocent man.

 _Gotcha_.

Yet my heart still pounded furiously in my chest, and my face felt so hot. My mind was completely calm, really it was. It was just that my body was a flood of adrenaline and hormones outside of my control. My hands still shook. My throat felt tight. My face was feverishly hot with a blush red as a poison apple.

“Do...” I began tentatively, “do you _want_ to go somewhere nobody will see?”

He froze. Icy eyes stared at me with incredulity as if trying to figure out if I'd really meant to say what he thought I said. He was so panicked right now, like he had never expected things to get this far. It was adorable. I had spent so long being scared of his intentions, but now his fear gave me confidence. This was how easily the predator became tangled up in his own trap.

He was not a very tall man. His lips were easy to capture in mine, just by leaning forward slightly, before he could think what was happening.

He tensed, and for a moment, I thought he would push me off of him and scream at me for overstepping a line. But then his lips parted and yielded themselves to me. His hands lightly traced my back, barely touching, as if unbelieving the that I had surrendered myself so easily to his desires. That the lamb he had merely fantasized about devouring laid itself willingly into his jaws.

Our blissful, trembling first kiss didn't last. He pulled back, looking suspiciously over both shoulders. The halls were clear. Yet, they weren't safe. Even a passing janitor could ruin them. He turned back to me with the determined set to his face of a man about to jump from a plane. In an authoritative voice that brokered no refusal, he said, “Follow me to the lab.”

 

**

 

Inside Dr. Foster's lab classroom, there was a science supply closet. It was a large walk-in with cabinets full of various chemicals, and shelves packed with boxes. There was a floor cabinet with a black table top to it, and this was what he roughly pushed me on to after closing the door behind us.

I looked up at him with the wide eyes of a deer. I started to think, maybe this was a bad idea after all. But then, his face appeared in front of mine, eager for me, with that graying hair I'd often dreamed of stroking. When I realized I could simply reach out now and feel his smooth locks beneath my hands, and taste the sweetness of his mouth as he responded to my touch, I nearly purred with delight.

He knelt down in front of the table, between my legs, parting them with his rough hands. I felt his palms run up my thighs, lifting my pleated skirt as they went. Then he slid my underpants down. I gasped. “What… what are you doing?” I shrilled.

“Quiet.” he ordered. Then, parting my thighs with his hands, he slipped his tongue like a serpent into my warm, tender slit.

“Oh!” I cried out, gasping, as he slid his wet tongue back and forth over me, taking long sensuous daughts, and then flicking the tip of his tongue rapidly over just the small nub that sent electric fire surging through every part of my body. I had seen this in porn before, but nothing could prepare me for the real thing. The warm, wet, comfort of his mouth sucking and licking me hungrily made my body explode with sensation. Blood coursed between my legs wherever his tongue went, until I was dripping with wetness. I could do nothing but cry out soft, helpless cries and grip the edge of the table, whimpering. I had to close my eyes. It was like nothing else in the world existed except for the intense feeling between my legs, driving tension through my whole body, my need growing until all I cared about was reaching the point where I would break. He growled into me, gripping my thighs, nibbling with his lips, circling his tongue over my wet folds at a ravenous pace. Oh, I wanted him to devour me. I wrapped my legs around his back, forcing him ever closer until his lips closed over my clitoris, sucking it hard while still swirling his tongue around the glowing center that controlled me. With a cry, I broke hard like waves crashing against a levee. Wave after wave ravaged my whole body as the ocean smashed through my walls, and I drowned in the tide as it washed over me.

The doctor was still between my weak and shaking legs as I came back to reality, opening my eyes, gasping for air.

I felt done. He was just getting started.

I stared, unbelieving, as he freed his cock from his pants. It was full, and hard, and the manic look to the doctor's eyes said there was no stopping the eager penetration he had waited for. My body still trembled like weak gelatin. I had no resistance left in me when he grabbed my arms and pinned them to the desk, behind my back. The rounded pink head of his cock rubbed delicately against my folds. My spent clitoris ached with the half-pleasure of over-stimulation, and another wave shook me. Then he moved it over my opening, wet and inviting, and pressed in to me. “Oh!” I cried, suddenly shocked awake again, gripping my fingernails into his hand where they still held me firm to the table as he filled me with his hard shaft. I enveloped him, reveling in the pressure. This felt wonderful. I thought I was done after he made me come, but the difference in sensation of being penetrated gave me a second wind.

Then all of a sudden, he stopped.

“This isn't your first time, is it?” he asked me, darkly.

Oh, god. No. Is that a problem? I could only stare in horror and shake my head.

Fucking Tyler. He was in the grade above me at the time, so I didn't know him well. I mistook his glasses for brains, and his shaggy hair for a sensitive spirit. We went on two dates, had lousy, painful sex, and then I caught him the next week hitting on some other girl. The fact that he hated Dr. Foster was probably what drew me to the doctor in the first place.

Now, he frowned like he realized I wasn't as perfect and innocent as he wanted. I was dirty. I couldn't believe it. I felt so stupid for letting that boy ruin me for someone who was really worth it.

“I'm sorry” I all but sobbed, “there's nothing I can do about it. I wish I could change it. I wish you could have had my first time.” I wanted so desperately for him to want me. Was this all going to be over now?

His expression collapsed at my plea, and I couldn't tell what it was he was thinking; but he flipped me over and bent me over the table. He pulled my skirt off entirely and let it pool around my ankles. His hand caressed the roundness of my buttocks as they were embarrassingly presented. Then the hand lifted up and flew down again like a switch, clapping against my skin.

“You're a bad girl.” he growled lowly. Then he was inside me, his hard cock filling me from behind. I screamed with the surprise and pain of being so suddenly penetrated. He thrust into me savagely, digging his fingers into my hips as he gripped them, pulling me onto his hardness as far as it could go.

“Have you done it in this position before?” he demanded.

“N..no!” I shrieked. His cock bumped uncomfortably against my cervix from this angle. It hurt a little bit, and stretched me in a way I wasn't used to, but it also put pressure on new and interesting places. I felt completely helpless to his will.

“Good.” he replied coldly, and began a merciless barrage into me, reveling in the screams and cries I made on every stroke. His fingers gripped painfully into my hips as he thrust uncontrollably, pulling me against him harder, drawing me in deep.

I realized he was muttering something, a constant low mumble, barely audible. I strained to hear the words. It was an aimless string- a some were guilty confessions, some idolizing observations about my body. Some were so filthy I blushed, despite already being bent over a desk with a teacher having his way with me.

 

Then he called me a whore.

 

“Hey! No!” I cried indignantly and struggled against him. His arms clamped down on me like steel, not allowing me to get away. He thrust into me with fevered violence, now growling out his string of words uninhibited, “You whore. You little slut. Making me do this to you. I could lose my job over this. Because of you. You're a bad--” his hand came down hard on my ass, “--bad girl.” I gasped, heart fluttering. Again, a loud smack filled the small closet, “a very bag girl.” He repeated it over and over like a mantra, punctuating each “bad girl” with a slap that stung my buttocks, spreading a pink glow across my skin that tingled like a hundred pins and needles.

It's hard to explain, but somehow being spanked and called a bad girl makes you feel like less of a bad girl. Maybe that's the whole basis of the Catholic religion. Confess your sins and be purified. In that case, Dr. Foster was my personal Jesus. I hoped he would never stop until all my past mistakes were washed away, and replaced instead with this one.

Slowly, the spanking was replaced with extra hard, deeply penetrating thrusts that made me cry out in pleasure and pain both. Leaning flush against my back, his hands groped up my skin until they cupped and teased my soft quivering breasts. He leaned into my hair, still gasping _bad, bad girl_ to punctuate each thrust. Suddenly,his tone changedto whispering adoration, repeating my name over and over into my ear. His fingertips brushed lovingly over throat, up and over my chin. I parted my lips for him, as his fingers delicately traced my mouth. My heart beat wildly as his fingers began to explore the wetinside, teasing my tongue. I sucked on them gently, surprised that something in my mouth could spark a reaction in my hips, making me grind against him as he penetrated me.

He crushed me to his chest, picked up speed, and repeated, “You're mine now. Mine.” He buried his head in the side of my neck as his ragged breath broke, and he whispered hoarsely, “mine.”With one final, deep thrust his hot seed spilled inside me.

He stayed, cradling me in his arms, breathing steadily into my hair, for a long time. I think we both knew, as soon as we moved from that position, it was over. And we were both scared of what would happen then, when reality fell. My fingers twined into his, and I felt them grip back, squeezing. His thumb made tender circles across the back of my hand. I felt the rhythm of his heart beat through my back.

Of course, my moody doctor couldn't fight off the pressing of doubts and insecurity for very long, and this position was far too compromising in too many ways to count. He pulled out, and began hastily re-doing his pants. With a sniff, he looked back at me, and before I could say anything, commanded, “Go clean yourself up and go home. Nobody finds out about this, do you understand? This would ruin you, too. I know you're trying to get into college next year, and I would hate if anything were to ruin your chances, like a scandal. Or poor science grades.”

 _What the hell?_ _He's threatening me?_ I felt sick. Used. What the hell did he think this was? I was blindingly pissed off.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snarled at him, “This would _ruin my chances?_ Do you know what happens if anyone find out about this? You go to jail. Do you know what happens to me? _Nothing._ I bet they'd throw a party in honor of my bravery. In fact, I'd probably get automatic A's, especially when I tell them about the environment of fear you've created for me all year long. And you know everyone in class would testify to that, too, the way you've been leering at me. Go ahead-- tell the courts I wanted it. Do you know how much bigger a creep you'll come off as? Oh, and so kind of you to leave your DNA evidence inside me. Thanks for that. Let's not get confused for one second about who has all the leverage here.”

I smiled victoriously as the blood drained from his face in abject horror. He began to stammer and backpedal. Before he could have a heart attack, I lightheartedly slapped his arm.

“Oh, look at you. You are too cute. I'm not going to turn you in. This was great. I think we should do it again. --Only if you want to!” I quickly added, “I'm not blackmailing you or anything. Nothing has to change. Just keep grading me as normal. No special favors, and no threatening me. You can keep doing all that dominant stuff during the sex, though. The spanking and calling me a naughty seductress-- ooh that turned me on! Just don't try to pull any manipulative bullshit with me.”

He was stunned into silence, his jaw flopping loosely as if trying and failing to make words. “Seriously. Let's do this again.” I pecked him on the cheek and skipped away home, more pleased with myself than I've ever been.

And that was how I ended up on my back, or bent over for my science teacher at least once a week. A few times I even ended up at his house, waking up with him still holding my waist and breathing evenly into my hair. Judge me if you want, but this was the best senior year ever.

 


End file.
